


Pride Over Character

by skeletonfreetea



Series: Cat On A Hot Tin Roof [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mobtale (Undertale), Car Chases, Edge/Burgerpants, Gun Violence, M/M, Sans/Underfell Sans (Undertale), Setting typical Violence, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27379099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeletonfreetea/pseuds/skeletonfreetea
Summary: The job in Fellswap is meant to be quick and easy, like half a thousand other hits Edge has been on before. It's almost comical when it's interrupted by a pizza delivery, and significantly less comical when Edge realizes he's now got a civilian on his hands and no easy options for how to deal with this mess. It's a good thing he's not the idea-man for the Fell Gang, right? It's an even better thing that BP is quick on his feet.
Relationships: Burgerpants/Papyrus (Undertale), Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Cat On A Hot Tin Roof [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000026
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter One - From The East Side

**Author's Note:**

> I have weakness for this setting and this ship. Expect slow updates and an even slower burn.

Edge fires off two rounds and tries to ignore the steady throbbing ache of his shoulder. His shirt is blood damp and sweat tacky. He slams himself into the wall around the corner hard enough that it makes his bones rattles, using it as cover to let off two more shots.

The cat is cowering under a nearby desk. A rat looking monster hits the ground and stays down, bloodied but not dust. Someone else shoots back; they’ve worked with Mal before but they don’t have even half as much Intent behind their bullets. 

He can feel his own HP tick tick ticking down. Edge braces himself against the wall for a moment. His tail lashes angrily where it’s trapped against his leg. The leather feels too tight. His bones are humming. The thing about adrenaline is that it’s not too far off from a bad trip or an LV Rush. Everything is sharp and dull at the same time.  
  
Sweat drips down into his sockets. Edge takes a breath and throws himself back around the corner, shooting as he goes. A bullet lodges itself into the Madjick’s torso and she goes down. Two more hit the wall, and a third catches the cat right between the eyes. It bursts into dust.   
  
The Madjick makes a grab for her dropped gun. Edge kicks her, hard, and she skids across the floor. He puts two more shots in her. The dust mixes with blood on the floor. It’s a bad enough neighborhood that no good will come from calling the cops. They don’t respond to gun shots in the middle of the night, but the mess is still going to be a pain in the ass to clean up.  
  
Edge takes a quick count of the bodies even as he reloads his gun. The EXP is an ugly warmth in his marrow, but not enough to tip him up another Level. The cat is still under the desk. Edge braces a hand against it, half curling over the desk even as he taps the side of his gun against the wood. “Get out.”  
  
“I’m just – I’m just the pizza guy, man! I didn’t – heh, look, I didn’t see anything, okay? I was just trying to drop off that pizza, it’s my job, that’s it - “ He hunkers even further under the desk. All of his fur is fluffed up, ears pinned back, pupils small and sharp.  
  
Edge catches him by a wrist and pulls him out from under the desk. “As if I haven’t heard that one before.”  
  
“No, it’s true, see? Look, little buddy, there’s the pizza! I was _just_ trying to make a delivery!” He doesn’t look like he’s lying, which is a damned shame.  
  
It’s one thing to put a bullet in the brains of someone actively trying to kill him, or _planning_ on making a go at Red. It’s always a lot harder when it’s just someone that’s gotten tangled up in their mess by mistake.  
  
That EXP hits the hardest.   
  
Edge points at the far side of the room with his gun. “Over there. Sit.”  
  
The cat shoots the door one long, hopeful look before scrambling to the other side of the room. He drops down onto the ground, the absolute picture perfect image of a miserable monster. 

Edge keeps one hand on his gun, moving to check the other rooms. The house is a clean sweep. The rat monster doesn’t dust on his own, which works out just fine for Edge.   
He kneels in front of him, scruffing the monster and giving him a hard shake. “What is Muffet doing in this part of town?”

The rat slurs something that sounds vaguely like an insult. 

Edge gives another shake, one more chance. He isn’t actually surprised by the fact that nothing comes from it. Muffet keeps a tight hand on her people. The rare few who aren’t terrified shitless by her _know_ better than to do something that will put them on Mal’s bad side.

So that one gets a bullet, too. The bloody dust spatters onto the sides of his dress shoes. In the corner, the cat lets out a truly ugly sounding whine. When Edge turns to look at him, the cat bares all his sharp little teeth and hisses. 

“If you’re trying to impress me, you’re failing miserably.” Edge crosses the room in a few short strides, looking the cat over. 

It doesn’t _look_ like he’s a genuine member of Muffet’s gang. She’s smart about who she hires. If anything, he looks like he might be a runner – a one time payment to drop something off somewhere. No information given. Just cold hard G. 

Edge nudge’s the cat’s leg with the tip of one shoe.

He _spits_ and tries to pull tighter in on himself. “Fuck, heh, fuck you! I didn’t do anything, okay? I’m just the _pizza_ guy, little buddy. That’s it!”

“Hands.”

“...what?”

“Give me your hands.” Edge holds one hand of his own. After a moment, the cat shoves his paws out. They’re shaking. 

Pulling a pair of zip ties out of his Inventory, Edge loops them around the cat’s paws. He hisses, ears going completely flat. “What the _fuck_!”

Edge gives them a tug, testing it with one finger, and then drops the paws. “Sit. Stay.”

“Are you, heh, are you _serious_ right now?” The cat tries to squirm out of the zip tie. It doesn’t work.

“Consider yourself lucky,” says Edge, lightly. “You could be one of the poor bastards I’m about to clean up off the floor.”

It takes forty minutes to clean the house. By the time Edge is done, it reeks of bleach, and is messy in a way that looks lived in but not ransacked. There’s so much blood on his own shirt, it’s in danger of making a mess all over the clean floors. He managed to locate the papers that he’d been after under one of the cushions on the couch though, which means that two of his problems have been solved. 

That just leaves one more mess.

Edge dries his hands off on one of the rags that he brought with him, careful to get between the notches of his bones, and gives the cat a sideways look. Clearly, the easiest way to handle this problem would be to put the cat down and move on with things.   
It’s just that he’s some dumb little fucker that showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time. CHECKs don’t lie, after all, and this one reads

BP  
LV 0  
*he’s just the pizza guy

So Edge takes the easy way out of things. He’s not the _ideas guy_. He just handles the dirty work and the clean up. Making calls is Red’s job.

Tucking the last spent rag into his Inventory, Edge hooks a hand around BP’s arm and pulls the cat to his feet. “Move.”

“Come on,” he whines. His ears are pinned back flat against his skull. “You’re not, heh, seriously gonna kill me now, are you? You just cleaned this place and - “

Edge shoves him forward. “Stop talking. Keep walking. Don’t make me regret not putting you down right here.”

Wisely, BP shuts the fuck up. 

It’s dark outside. Edge isn’t sure what time it is exactly, but probably long after midnight. He steers the cat towards his car, opens the back door, and ushers him in.   
BP sinks down into the back seat, trying to make himself look smaller. The seat cover’s going to need changing after this; there’s grease on the cat’s clothes and even more of it on his fur.  
  
He pulls pain killers out of his Inventory on his way around the car and eats them dry. The bitter taste coats the inside of his teeth. Edge slides into the front seat. The engine roars to life on the first turn of the key. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road. By morning, Muffet’s people are going to be combing the city looking for him.   
He takes a left, the road out of town.   
  
It’s a three hour drive to the bar and a four hour drive to his own apartment, with Red’s trailer landing somewhere in between. Easy enough to make, but not with his little passenger in the back seat. The cat’s starting to look a little squirmy already. 

Edge opts for one of the no-tell motel’s on Red’s pay list instead. They don’t ask questions and they charge by the hour, not the night. He locks the cat in the car while he gets the key. BP looks like he’s resigned to his fate by the time Edge gets back and opens the door.  
  
“Out,” says Edge.  
  
BP wiggles his way across the seat, staggering when he stands up. Edge clamps a hand on the back of the cat’s neck, just so he doesn’t get any ideas, and marches him into their room. It’s on the bottom floor, the window in perfect view of where he’s parked his car. There’s only one bed, and Edge shoves the cat towards it.  
  
BP gives a nervous laugh. “Okay, come on, buddy. Can’t you just, heh, let me go? What’s even with all this, huh?”  
  
“Sit on the bed. Don’t move.” Edge does a quick check of the room, runs his fingers under the inside of the lamp shade, underneath the ridge of the desk.   
  
No bugs.   
  
Red pays the owner _very_ good money, but it never hurts to check.   
  
BP stays sitting on the very edge of the bed, zip-tied hands resting in his lap. He looks appropriately miserable for the situation. “I’m going to be in so much trouble for this.   
My, heh, my manager’s going to kill me.”  
  
“I love how you think _he’s_ the one that’s going to put you out back.” Edge pulls out the chair and sits down on it, backwards, so he can brace one arm against the top of it and lean there. “I didn’t say that’s not how this is going to end for you.”  
  
“Lotta, heh, lotta work though, right? I mean, bringing me all the way out here to, uh, where ever the fuck this is. Little buddy, you gotta know I don’t get paid enough for this, right? I’m not going to say shit to anyone. I, heh, I dooon’t care about any of the shit you did, okay?”  
  
“I realize that works in the movies, but it won’t get you anywhere with me.”  
  
“Sure, sure, I totally get that. But, and here’s where I’m coming from, little buddy, I know my life is shit, but I don’t actually want to die over fourteen bucks worth of pizza. You get that, right? You seem, heh, reasonable enough, right?”  
  
Edge clacks his back teeth together, snorting. “I don’t know that I’ve been called _reasonable_ before.”  
  
Point in case – reasonable would have been shooting BP without getting squirmy about it. Reasonable would also be taking care of his shoulder while the pain killers were still keeping it numb, as opposed to waiting another twenty minutes  
  
Instead, he tells the cat, “give me one good reason why I should be _reasonable_ and keep you alive.”  
  
“I...got kids?”  
  
It’s so fucking stupid that it startles a laugh out of Edge. “Bullshit. Try again.”  
  
“You, heh, come on, little buddy, you don’t know. Maybe I’m working as a pizza boy to feed my family.”  
  
“And maybe I’m a cop. Try something believable.” Edge snorts. “Kids. As if you’ve ever even fucked.”  
  
The cat sputters.   
  
Edge grins, showing off a mouth filled with sharp teeth. “You _do_ have a good reason, don’t you?”  
  
BP’s ears flick back. “Can’t _I really don’t want to die in a pizza uniform_ be a good enough reason?”  
  
“No. I could honor that wish and still kill you. You would just have to strip first.” Edge grins even sharper. _That’s_ a line he’s going to have to remember to tell Red later. The other skeleton will get a kick out of it, he’s sure.  
  
BP doesn’t look even a little bit amused, which is something of a shame.   
  
He scoots closer to the headboard of the bed, like that might make a difference if Edge _really_ decided to kill him.  
  
“How about this? I’ll even give you time to think about an answer,” says Edge. “You can have until morning to come up with a reason that _isn’t_ fucking stupid. Give me a good enough one, and maybe I’ll let you walk out of here in one piece.”  
 _  
Here_ being the motel, of course.  
  
But if the cat isn’t smart enough to haggle out specifics – well, that’s not _Edge’s_ problem. He’s already being nicer than the situation merits.   
  
(red’s right. he’s stupid as shit. this is going to be trouble, in the long run.)


	2. Chapter Two - Going To The West Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which BP realizes he's in over his head, Edge gets stuck in a car chase, and Red is suspicious.

The cat falls asleep, eventually. He _tries_ to stay awake, Edge can tell. But eventually all that fear and adrenaline crashes in around him, and he slouches against the headboard of the bed, tail pulled up protectively over his waist. Even asleep the fur is fluffed up.

He’s not the only one who’s crashing. The pill wore off almost an hour ago. Edge’s shoulder burns like there are claws digging into the open marrow. When he slips into the bathroom, he finds that the fabric of his shirt is drenched in dull, dark red magic and marrow.

What a mess.

This entire ordeal is turning into a mess, actually. Edge shakes out his hands before starting to work on the buttons. He has to stop twice before he’s able to get the whole neat row of them open, shrugging off his no longer white button-down and shoving it into the sink.

He turns on the tap, cold water so the stain doesn’t set. As if it’s not already absolutely ruined. The thought’s a little more bitter than it should be, but Edge actually liked this shirt. It fit nice through the ribs, which is always a challenge to find.

Prodding at the wound on his shoulder knocks a hiss out of him. The bullet went clean through, which might be the only stroke of luck that Edge has had all night. His Inventory is well stocked; it’s not long before he has a make-shift first aid station set up on the bathroom counter.

What Edge _wants_ to do is get a shower and really get himself cleaned. All the dried sweat on his bones is making him itch, marrow scratching with discomfort. Of course, that’s not an option considering that he has a _guest_ just in the next room. It’s his own fault. He sucks it up and settles for using a rag and warm water to try and wash up the filthiest parts of himself, methodically cleaning the space between his vertebrae and the hollows of the scars on his eye socket.

The antiseptic stings like a mother fucker. The gauze pad he tapes onto his shoulder blade burns. It’s his own fault, going into that building and expecting there to be no one laying in wait, just like it’s his own fault for not doing the _smart_ thing and putting a bullet in BP’s skull back at the house.

Red’s going to be pissed.

And his shirt is ruined. Fuck.

By the time that Edge gets most of the blood washed out of his shirt and the damned thing hung up to dry, there’s no denying that he needs to take another dose of meds. He cracks the pill in half this time, leery of getting _too_ much relief. Falling asleep isn’t going to do him any favors.

The fact that the wooden chair at the desk is uncomfortable is definitely a good thing.

Edge eats another pain pill in the morning and then wakes the cat up by hooking three fingers in the zip tie and hefting him off the bed. BP wakes up hissing and snorting and spitting, even as he scrambles to try and get his paws under him. Edge lets him stumble a bit but not fall.

“What the fuck!”

“Where’s your answer?”

“Oh, oh _shit_ ,” says BP, like maybe he’s just realizing Edge is here, that the motel is here, that none of it was a dream. Jokes on him though, isn’t it? The universe has a sick sense of humor. No one here’s laughing.

Edge tugs on the zip ties again, pulling BP that much closer. He crowds into the cat’s personal space, free hand curling around BP’s chin and tilting it back.

BP’s ears pin flat. His upper lip curls back, showing all of his teeth. They’re surprisingly tiny when compared to Red’s. Feisty, though. He says, “heh, little buddy, I dunno what to say. I work a shitty job delivering pizza, but I _don’t_ want to die. That’s it, okay? I’ve got, heh, noooo Shakespearean response for you. It’s just that getting a bullet in my skull really – _really_ doesn’t sound like a good time.”

( _he’s barely out of stripes and there’s a gun to his skull and edge snarls and snaps and bites because he doesn’t want to die, and that single thought has been in his skull from that point on, he doesn’t want to die and so he won’t_ )

And here is the cat, kidnapped and a witness to murder, with Edge peering down at him all claws and fangs and scars, and the cat says, “I just don’t want to fuckin’ die, okay? I’ll, heh, you tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, okay?”

“Dangerous words,” says Edge. Sometimes death really is the better outcome. But – maybe not this time, maybe not in this case.

BP’s ears twitch. “Does that, heh, mean you _aren’t_ going to shank me?”

“It means I’ll let you get back in the car,” says Edge. “For now.”

And then he herds the cat back out into the parking lot, manhandling him into the back seat. The shirt is mostly dry by now but the early morning chill manages to find the last traces of dampness and sink in. He flicks on the heater when he slides into the driver’s seat, and then the radio. The first low notes of a Sabbath song drift through the speakers.

It’s a good wake-up station. Edge can’t handle anything without a heavy bass before noon at least, especially not when he’s already running on drugs and magic. In the back seat, the cat pulls his legs up against his chest, slumping against the door, and grumbles, “at least the music isn’t shit.”

The corners of Edge’s mouth twitch up, just a little.

He turns up the volume.

There are four towns in very close vicinity to each other, most of them vying for control over the same set of illegal markets. Muffet has a tight grip on what’s left of Fellswap; an old place that never required after the factory fire took out most of the jobs.

He doesn’t know these streets the way he knows them in Undertale. The fact that there’s an added passenger in the backseat doesn’t help. When they make their third trip down Lemon Drive, BP asks, “What, heh, are you fucking doing?”

“Getting their attention.”

“Right. Don’t know why, heh, I fuckin’ asked, that doesn’t mean shit to me.” BP’s ears flatten out again. He somehow manages to look even more pathetic when he slumps down on the seat. Just falls over across it, stretching out long, long like only cats get.

Edge doesn’t have any reason to explain things to the cat. He does anyway. “I took back something that they stole, and I’m making it clear that I didn’t tuck tail and run afterwards. It’s good for business. Not to mention that the moment my...business partners - “ That gets a snort from BP. “ - realize that I’m still in town, they’ll clear the main highway and I can get back home quicker.”

“And, uh, me? Where do I fit into all’a this, little buddy?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Not dead for the moment, which should be fucking good enough to keep you quiet for now.”

“...yeah, okay. Guess there’s at least _one_ think I can’t complain about it.” The look on BP’s face makes it clear he very much _would_ like to complain more.

He doesn’t.

Smart cat.

There’s someone on the street corner. It’s the third time Edge has seen the monster in the last twenty minutes, which means that his plan worked. It almost always does. Content enough that no one’s going to have spikes up on the highway, and fairly certain that it won’t be ending in a shoot out, either, Edge finally relents and starts heading towards the main road out of town.

BP’s head snaps up. His ears swivel. “The fuck is that?”

Edge adjusts the rear view mirror so he can better look at the cat. “What?”

“That, heh, sound.” BP’s ears twitch. He pulls further in on himself, best he can with his hands bound. “I think _you’ve_ got a problem, buddy.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t hear _anything_ \- “ And that’s when the white Mercedes Benz comes tearing around the corner and right in front of Edge.

He slams on the breaks, jerking the wheel in the same go. The tires squeal, back end spinning out of control. The cat hisses out a string of feat slick curses and Edge would agree if his mind hasn’t just gone completely blank.

It’s the good sort of blank, at least. Making decisions on who lives and who dies? That’s Red’s territory. Edge might make a good front for the bar, He might be a good shot and a son of a bitch in a fight. At heart though, Edge is still the same speed chasing driver that he was when Red first pulled him in from the gutters. It’s one of the only things he can really claim credit for.

Put Edge behind a wheel, and there’s no one else that can compete. It helps that he’s spent all day mapping out the streets. He’s not smart, but he still knows how to plan things. Which is why the moment that the car starts spinning, Edge slams it into reverse. The car shoots backwards, narrowly missing the Mercedes and the _clearly_ new driver behind its wheel, and keeps going.

BP lets out a wail that almost sounds pained. When Edge slams on the breaks three streets down, he slides off the seats and onto the floor.

“Stay down there,” barks Edge, because there’s less chance anyone will realize he’s got a passenger that way.

This is exactly what Edge had been planning for, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing. He hits one wrong wet patch, spins out onto a street that’s more busy than expected – has to slam the breaks, has to try and wrench the wheel at the last moment – cars aren’t like magic and fighting. They handle _one_ way. Try anything else, and you’ll end up rolling it.

But Edge hasn’t rolled a car since he was sixteen and fresh out of his first high speed chase, and even then it had been night, and storming, and late winter. It was understandable. There’s no excuse for it today, though.

Late evening. Dry weather. A set up inside of a set up.

Edge rockets down the street, the Mercedes in hot pursuit. They speed fast Turn Street and a motorbike comes out to join them, easily jumping past the Mercedes. The monster inside is in black and purple, Fellswap colors. They fire off two shots. Edge neatly pulls a brick from his Inventory and leans out the window far enough to throw it; wind whipping into his skull, one hand on the wheel, Soul pounding with the same surge of adrenaline that it gets from EXP but _better_.

The brick misses the monster (a shame) but slams into the front wheel with enough force that it upends the entire bike. There’s a scream of tires and then the resounding crash of metal as it flips straight onto the hood of the Mercedes, sending both vehicles swerving to the side and straight into a lamp post.

Edge keeps going.

In the rear view mirror, he catches sight of BP pulling himself back up onto the seat, ears pinned flat and fur fluffed up to ridiculous levels. “ _Hooooly_ shit.”

“Eloquent,” says Edge. “Stay down. I don’t want to have to clean your dust out of my car if you get shot.”

Distraction sufficiently made, Edge leaves town for good this time. He puts two hours between himself and Fellswap before finding a rest-stop to pull into. The wound on his shoulder is bleeding again. He can feel hot warmth against his bones. It’s not bleeding through the bandages yet though, so he’s good.

Edge pushes open the front door, pausing long enough to tell BP, “stay the fuck still. If you try to run at this point, I’ll put a bullet in your head without hesitating.”

“Gotcha,” says BP. His fur is still fluffed, pupils drawn tight and small. “Not gonna go anywhere, little buddy.”

A hum, then Edge steps out of the car. There’s an old pay phone sitting just at the end of the walk. Edge feeds it three G and then beats his fist against it twice before the call goes through.

The voice on the other end of the line says, “ab-b-bout time ya c-c-called in, b-b-boss. th’d-dog’s t-touched b-base half an hour-a-go.”

“The dogs didn’t have to cause a distraction, now did they?” Edge’s voice is dry. He braces his good shoulder against the little wall of the partial cubicle. There’s no door on the box, but it offers some half-assed attempt at privacy all the same.

Red chuckles. The poor reception distorts his voice. “g-guess ya g-got’em there.”

“Does that mean they were able to make the drop?”

“y-yep. ya k-kept all eyes on y-you. they p-p-passed it off e-easy.”

“Good. Then I’ll be back in town by tomorrow night.”

Red’s quiet for a beat too long. Voice gruff, he asks, “why n-n-not t-tonight, b-boss?”

There’s no pulling anything past Red. Honestly, Edge doesn’t even try anymore. He shifts, tilting around so he can peek back at his car. BP is still sitting pretty in the back seat. Edge hums. “Unexpected circumstances have come up.”

Red demands, “y-yeah? how unexpected w-we t-talkin’ here?”

“I was shot in the shoulder,” answers Edge. “I’m stopping at the motel on Broadway to wrap it.”

“b-broadway’s tw-twenty m-minutes from yer place,” says Red, suspiciously. There’s the sound of glass clinking on the other side. “w-what’re ya t-tryin’ ta pull?”

“Nothing that’s going to come back and bite us in the ass,” says Edge. He keeps the _I hope_ to himself, right alongside the _I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet_. That’s not important to the conversation.

A weighty silence stretches between them. Finally, Red tells him, “ya b-better n-not show up here sp-spittin’ b-blood t-tomorrow.”

An allowance. Edge can play his little game. A low, pleased purr rattles traitorously out of his chest, just for a moment. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a while to get this chapter finished, but I managed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always make my day. Edge is absolutely making a bad decision and he knows it. BP just wants to go back to work.


End file.
